In memoriam
by Kerrison
Summary: When a family tragedy hits, Mary establishes quickly where her loyalties lie.   Post season 3 finale - spoiler alert.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own anything. If I did, I wouldn't be broke.**

**Spoilers for S3 finale.  
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><p>Her go-bag was tucked in the corner against the railing while she sat stiffly on the porch swing. She felt awkward and she knew she looked it, too.<p>

It wasn't that she didn't like the swing or the beautiful view from the porch. It was that she knew she didn't really have the right to be here; not right now.

She had heard the car pull up the drive and heard the doors shut as –she assumed- passengers got out. Mary didn't move.

The pattern of his footfalls in those cowboy boots was both reassuring and terrifying at the same time.

She had no regrets; vacation be damned. This is where she needed to be. But with one look, he could send her away and throw on her as much pain as she had thrown on him with her selfish, fear-driven behavior.

She stood just as he rounded the corner from the driveway and he stopped mid-stride as he saw her there, jeans white tank and jean jacket. There was no mistaking her for anyone else.

He stood at the base of the porch and she watched as Marshall stared at her blankly. He broke the gaze, looking back towards the house and moving up the steps and towards the door.

The lump in her throat was larger than she could have imagined possible. Rejection from her best friend – well fuck. If this is what she had inflicted on him, …

She took a step towards him as he walked past and she reached towards his arm, missing by several inches. He stopped, his head dropping forward and his eyes closed. Mary watched as his shoulders slumped in defeat and he turned toward her. She felt her heart break at the agony etched across his face and she reached out again, risking everything and gathering him into a hug.

Mary pulled him as tightly to her as she could, and he buried himself into her arms, his shoulders shaking as sobs overtook him.

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><p>Her fingers traced lazy patterns in his hair, trying to find a calming, soothing rhythm.<p>

She had somehow negotiated them from standing to sitting on the porch swing. His head was cradled against her shoulder and he alternated from staring out blankly across the front lawn, to keeping his eyes closed.

The sobbing had stopped. Occasionally she'd feel his shoulders shudder and she knew he was repressing another wave of grief. He was just limp against her and one hand lightly bunched in the front of her shirt, a reminder of his wracking cries when he had held on for what felt like dear life.

Mary's free hand crept up to his cheek and gently wiped away the tear streaks. Her touch was uncharacteristically tender and she flinched when his fingers closed around hers.

Marshall held her hand tightly in his before twisting their grip to lace their fingers together. His thumb absently traced the back of her hand, the pattern mimicking the one she was drawing on his scalp.

"Did you get to talk to her?" Mary was the first to break the silence.

He nodded against her shoulder, the fabric of her jacket warm against his cheek. Fireflies had begun to sparkle against the grass of the yard, dusk having crept in while neither were paying attention.

She didn't know what else to say- what else to ask. She wanted to ask 'Are you ok' but she knew the answer: horrible. Broken. Crushed.

She wanted to ask 'What can I do' but she knew the answer: absolutely nothing.

Marshall took a breath, trying to steady his shaky voice. "She asked for you."

Mary felt herself frown in utter confusion. "What?"

He forced himself to sit up, instantly craving the comfort of her embrace. He relaxed his fingers and slipped them from her own. "She asked where you were."

"I-I don't…." Mary stuttered. "Marshall, I never met your mother."

He nodded. "I know. But she asked where you were." He stood from the swing, the motion rocking it slightly beneath Mary. His voice was low- hard. "I opted to not tell her you were in Mexico fucking Faber."

_Running away from myself, _she mentally added, _only to run back to you. Go figure. _

"I came as soon as Stan called," she said, intentionally keeping her voice even and refusing to lay blame on him.

"I told him not to bother you."

She shrugged. "Guess I'm the favorite after all," was her cheeky reply in an attempt to lighten the obviously dour mood.

She stood and reached for her go-bag, shouldering the strap. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a single key with a sparkling brass tag. "I'm at that B&B up the road – the one with all the creepy lace in the windows and crazy ass lawn gnomes all over the damned place." She reached out and placed the key in his hand, noting the confusion on his face. Now was not the time for sarcasm or rudeness. Now was the time to embrace a small sliver of the compassion and etiquette he had demonstrated over the years. Now was the time to honor the manners his mother had imparted on him so fully. "Look, Marshall, I-… I don't know how long you want me to stay, or even if you want me here. But... I'm here until you tell me to go. And now you know where to find me."

She slipped past him and down the steps, heading up the rural street towards 'town' – the quaint section of store frontages, cafes, B&Bs and historic buildings.

She had no rental car- a cab had been her fastest option at the small airport. She'd pick up a rental if he asked her to stay. So for now, she walked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Shockingly, I still don't own anything. Therefore - standard disclaimer still applies. :-/**

**_OH and it occurs to me that I am a horrible, horrible friend and forgot to thank my wonderful Beta Jen for all the awesomeness she provides. HUGS to Jen._**

**Read. Review. It'd make me happy. Please.**

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><p>The key turned in the door and she resisted the desire to flinch and reach for her glock. Only one other person had a key and she had all but invited him.<p>

She kept the patchwork quilt tucked around her lap and remained propped up in the window seat, fluffy pillows behind her.

Mary felt his gaze settle on her and she turned and met him with a sad smile.

He stood in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets. "Couldn't sleep."

She merely nodded, waiting for him to finally move into the room. The door shut quietly behind him and the darkness of the room seemed stifling.

"I think the Murphy's were shocked to see me come in at this hour," he muttered. "My reputation as a good southern boy just got shot to hell."

Mary arched a brow as his 'good southern boy' comment, watching as he settled onto the edge of her bed. They were both bathed in the moonlight that came through the glass. She hadn't been able to sleep and had bundled up on the window seat with a book. She fingered the leather bound cover still in her lap.

"What are you reading?"

She flipped the tome over and regarded the spine. "Gone with the Wind," she replied with a half-shrug. "I haven't read it since high school. I had forgotten what a pain in the ass Scarlet could be."

Marshall smirked. "She's a tough girl. She knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it. There's something admirable there."

"Until she starts to run over the only people in her life that put up with her bullshit," Mary countered, knowing that they weren't just talking about the book anymore. She shifted slightly on the window seat, turning towards him. "I, um, I didn't mean to intrude, Marshall. If you need me to leave, I will."

He stared out the window, his eyes not really focusing on the giant Willow Oak in the yard. "You're not intruding. But if you need to return to your vacation, I'll understand."

The unspoken hung heavy in the air. _Thanks for making the gesture. Go back to him if you want to. _

She shook her head and stood, moving and sitting tentatively next to him on the bed's edge. "I'm right where I want to be."

He dropped his head, his chin to his chest and she watched him shudder as he repressed another round of sobs.

"God, Marshall, I'm sorry," she whispered, knowing the words wouldn't bring his mother back. Knowing his ache for the loss of a parent. "I…" she stumbled, not sure how to repair their friendship and help him through this at the same time. Damned if she hadn't screwed up royally and now had to clean up her mess at the most inopportune time.

On impulse, she slipped her hand over his resting on his thigh. She laced their fingers together and waited for him to pull away. His grip tightened on hers and she felt her shoulders relax in the knowledge that she wouldn't be rejected right this minute.

"The service is Tuesday," he said, his voice shaking. "Nothing fancy – mom hated pretention."

"Would you like me to come?" she asked, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. When was the last time she asked him what he needed?

Her professional life was about taking charge; finding out the needs of her witnesses and making it happen. Her personal life- well that was a giant cluster. The idea struck her that maybe asking what someone else needed would be a good practice for her next relationship; maybe that's what it would take to keep it out of the toilet.

Marshall simply nodded in reply, squeezing her fingers ever so slightly.

She cleared her throat and decided to take a page straight from his book. "Tell me what you need."

She watched as his shoulders straightened, clearly shocked at hearing those words come from her mouth. He swallowed and opened his mouth and then closed it quickly. "Can I take a rain-check on that? I think I need some time before I know what I need."

"As much time as you want," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Not back to Mexico?" The hurt was clear in his voice and she had the good grace to blush at his pointed dig.

"For the record," she said defensively, sliding her hand out of his and watching his posture change from the corner of her eye. "You didn't lie to your mother."

He frowned at her, confused. She stood from the bed and stepped back towards the window. "I didn't fuck Faber," she elaborated, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "It was an option," she added in an effort to be completely honest. "It just didn't happen."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, the pain thinly veiled in his voice.

"Because you deserve to know," she swallowed the lump that had suddenly and unexpectedly taken place in her throat. _And so much more than I give you. _"You should know that I didn't invite him – he kind of followed me. You should know that I didn't sleep with him." She snickered. "I tried. But it just…Jesus." she shrugged. "I couldn't do it."

He looked at her, meeting her gaze full-strength. The 'Why' was clearly asked on his face and she was silently begging him to not push, knowing that this wasn't the time.

"Can we talk about this more later?" He questioned.

She nodded, her gaze skittering out the window. The eye contact had become too intense for her and she had to adjust her focus to regain her footing.

"Mare?"

She turned back to him, only to find that he had risen from the bed and stood inches from her.

They moved towards each other on instinct built from years of partnership. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly to his chest and she did the same. She felt his cheek rest on top of her head and she closed her fingers around his shoulders, pulling him tight.

"Thanks for coming," he said, his manners always in full-force.

She smiled, the gentle thrum of his heart beat under her ear. "I told you Doofus, I'm right where I want to be."


	3. Chapter 3

She hated dress shopping. With a passion. In fact, she hated it more than her most obnoxious witness.

But if there were any events in life which would prompt her to embrace her femininity and buy a dress, helping Marshall would definitely be on the list.

The small boutique in town had provided her with a simple black sheath dress, black pumps. She had refused the sales-clerk's offer of stockings. Funeral or not, stockings were classified as torture devices and she refused to wear them.

The blue and white plaid sundress on the clearance rack had caught her eye. Vaguely she remembered Marshall once telling her that she looked good in blue. Less vaguely she remembered noting that he had the most dazzling blue eyes.

The black dress would handle the service. But any other family-time he might invite her to would require more than the jeans-and-t-shirt that was in the go-bag. She grabbed the sundress, a pair of slacks and a blouse and handed over her credit card with less resentment than she had anticipated.

Generally spending money unnecessarily was a peeve of hers. But this didn't feel 'unnecessary.' Marshall needed her. And never once had he not been prepared to be there for her. This was her turn to repay the favor. And if that meant she had to repay Visa, she would.

She draped the garment bag over her arm and exited the shop, barely turning down the walk before she ploughed into her tall partner. They both stumbled and regained their footing.

"Jesus," she muttered under her breath as she watched him managed to not spill the drink in his hand.

"Hello to you, too," he grumbled and took in the package in her arms "Shopping?"

"Needed a dress for the service," she supplied with a shrug. "I just had my go-bag."

"No suitcase from Mexico?" he asked, frowning as she fell into step with him down the sidewalk.

She shook her head. "It's still in Mexico."

Marshall stopped midstride. "What?"

Mary shrugged. "I guess the hotel's thrown it out by now."

"Seriously, you left without your stuff?"

"Stan called. I went to the airport, took the first flight back, grabbed my go bag and got the first flight here. What's the big deal?"

"Mary," he said, not sure how to reply to her statement.

She met his eye. "What?"

He shook his head in amazement, not having been prepared for that much loyalty from her. _No- that's not fair,_ he corrected himself mentally. She had always been fiercely loyal as a partner. But this wasn't work. This was friends. And that was her weakness. For her to drop everything and head to his side, not even knowing if she'd be accepted was absolutely unprecedented.

He was touched.

"I, um, didn't know how formal the service would be. You're going to have to tell me if I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb."

"I'm sure you'll look fine," he said.

"I don't need everyone staring at the freak from Albuquerque who doesn't know how to dress for a funeral in Texas!"

Marshall managed a grin. "Mare, they're going to stare because they don't know you. Small town funerals generally don't have strangers."

"Fan Freakin Tastic."

"Besides, my family's heard me talk about you for years and dad's the only one who you've met. You've got a mystery-factor right now."

"Marshall, it's your mother's funeral, for god's sake. Can I be paraded around as the bitch-of-a-partner on another day? Like maybe _before _the funeral so that the attention can be on your mother's memory instead of my awkward ass?"

He stopped and turned to her again. "First off let me risk our little truce by clarifying something: you won't be paraded as my bitch of a partner, but instead as the woman my mother was convinced I'd marry," he waited a beat before continuing, slightly surprised to not see any shock or appall on her face. "Secondly, it's Sunday which means family barbecue at Dad's. Rain, shine, death, it goes on like clockwork and today is no exception. So if you'd like to be paraded today instead of on Tuesday, that might be better."

Mary blinked and sighed. "What's the dress code for this barbecue?"

He couldn't help but chuckle in surprise. "Seriously? I just tell you that my mother thought we should get married and she had yet to meet you, and you're worried about wearing the right clothes to my dad's back yard barbecue?"

She smacked his shoulder. Hard. "Damnit, Marshall! Just answer the question!"

Marshall snaked his arm across her shoulder, and impulsively planted a swift kiss to her temple. _Somedays I wonder what the hell is wrong with me. And then days like this happen, where she shocks me and makes me laugh all at the same time. _"Wear whatever you want," he said, turning them back down the sidewalk.

_Thank god for the sundress,_ she thought to herself, walking in step with him back towards his car. He had kept his arm around her shoulders.

She had felt no desire to remove it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Yep, hard to believe but I STILL Don't own IPS. :-/ OH well. On with the show. PS: Thanks loads for the reviews! :)**

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><p>Vaguely she remembered someone telling her that it was impolite to show up at a party empty handed. But, really, what do you bring to the family barbeque of someone who just lost their wife? And renting a room didn't really offer her the chance to bake a bunt cake… assuming she knew how to make a cake – which she didn't.<p>

The white gate on the picket fence to the back yard was propped open. She crossed the grass in her flip-flops, the blades tickling the sides of her feet, and followed the sounds of conversation and laughter as she rounded the corner into the yard.

She had expected the mood to be more somber, especially considering the sudden and untimely death of Sarah. Instead she found a Frisbee being tossed around, the scent of charcoal being heated by flame, two women in – thank god- sundresses pouring lemonade, and a man roughly Marshall's age stacking wood in a stone fire-pit.

The hinges on the screen door creaked loudly and she looked up to find Seth standing on the deck, a tray of hamburgers and ribs in his hand, staring at her as if she had grown a third head.

"Mary?" his voice was so incredulous, she looked down at herself and took a quick inventory, wondering if perhaps she had become a complete moron at dressing and missed something important.

She looked back up only to find that Seth had quickly set the tray down and stepped off the deck towards her. "You clean up nicely."

"Thanks. I think," she replied, frowning at him, but unable to keep from grinning slightly at the praise.

"Marshall knows you're here?" his voice was quiet, clearly not wanting to broadcast the topic to the entire family.

She nodded. "Saying 'I'm sorry for your loss' seems empty but… it's all I've got." she offered.

He nodded. "Thank you. And thank you for coming; I'm sure Marshall appreciates it."

"I do," Marshall said, having silently stepped behind his father.

She met his eyes over Seth's shoulders and gave him the faintest of smiles, pleased to get one in return.

"Nice dress," he complimented. "Love the color on you."

"Funny- my best friend likes this color, too," she teased, elbowing him as the three moved across the yard towards the activity.

"Marshall, make sure your guest is entertained," Seth barked, stepping back towards the grill. "I have food to cook."

"I'm not a guest," Mary corrected.

"We'll you're not family!" the older Mann countered, watching as Mary glared at him with vengeance. "No matter what Sarah thought."

Marshall sighed and Mary watched the tension take over his shoulders. "Ya know," she said to Marshall, "I'm not even sure how to reply to that."

Marshall snickered. "I'm just thankful you haven't shot him – or me. I'm pretty sure mom wouldn't have said anything to you."

"No. If she's anything like you, she'd just wait forever until I figured it out on my own," she said softly.

He arched a brow, surprised at her reply but their exchange was interrupted by the small rush of energy that impacted Marshall's legs.

"Uncle Marshall, can you help? We can't get the Frisbee down."

Marshall squatted, eye to eye with the young girl. "Please?" he prompted, rewarded when she repeated the word after him, batting her blonde lashes in the way only small children feigning coy could get away with. He stood and picked up the young girl, heading off to the tree-line, the red plastic disk lodged in the lower branches of an oak.

Mary watched him walk away, the child settled firmly on his hip and she felt herself frown at the image – so foreign to her, but not unpleasant.

Her staring was interrupted by a young woman of about the same age as she, who stepped into Mary's space, holding out a glass of lemonade. "I'm Melissa, Evan's wife."

"Mary Shannon," she said, holding out her hand to shake and taking the proffered lemonade. "Marshall and I work together."

"I think Seth and Sarah mentioned you." Melissa nodded. "It's awfully nice for you to come this far on short notice."

Mary nodded. "Marshall's …well, Marshall. He's better than my real family, so this is the least I could do."

Melissa noted Mary's distracted gaze and followed her line of vision to the taller man playing with the children. She opened her mouth to comment, but the look of awe on Mary's face made her change tactics. "He's great with kids. They all love it when he comes home for holidays. All we hear for weeks is 'Uncle Marshall' this and 'Uncle Marshall' that."

"I, um," she frowned, watching him swing the young girl around in a circle, and seeing the look of contentment on Marshall's face. "I don't get to see him with kids that often."

"Sarah used to say that Marshall always talked about having a big family when he was younger. She thought it was odd that he was the only one who _didn't_ have kids yet."

"He's never really mentioned it," Mary replied quickly, trying to drown her words with a sip of lemonade.

"It's hard to talk about some stuff at work, I guess," Melissa offered. "I've been at home with Dillon and Cassie and haven't worked in a while, but I remember what it was like. Talking about personal stuff isn't always on the top of the agenda."

_But somehow we always manage to talk about _my _personal stuff. _She mentally kicked herself, yet another piece of evidence pointing to their horribly out of balance friendship.

"Work does get in the way, sometimes," Mary admitted, mentally promising to make more of an effort. "Um, is there anything I can do to help?"

Melissa smiled. "Rebecca is in the kitchen making potato salad and I'm about to go finish up the cole slaw. Would you like to come help?"

"No!" Marshall called from a few strides away, child perched atop his shoulders. "I would like to _not _have salmonella poisoning this weekend, thank you very much."

"He's right. I am a horrible cook," she admitted. "I've been known to mess up a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich."

"How can you mess that up?" the child atop Marshall's shoulders asked, incredulous.

"It's a gift," he replied, glancing up at the girl. He lifted her off and handed her to Melissa. "I'm sure _you_ can help with the food, Cass. It'll be safer than if Aunt Mary helped."

Melissa took her daughter's hand and headed back into the kitchen with a friendly smile over their shoulders.

"Aunt Mary?"

He shrugged and had the good grace to look somewhat abashed. He started walking towards the tree line along the property's edge and she fell into step. "I guess a few Christmases ago I spent a little too much time talking about my partner." Marshall chuckled at the memories clearly running through his head. "Mom said she never heard anyone talk about such negative traits in such a positive light before. She had the kids start asking me about 'Aunt Mary.'"

"Is that when she told you that we should get married?"

He shook his head, ducking a low branch and leading her down a small path in the woods. "She never said 'should.' She just assumed it would happen one day. She would say 'When you and Mary have kids, be sure to name one of your babies after Aunt Gertrude.'"

"Holy Jesus, Marshall. Gertrude?"

"That was _exactly_ my response. Which just added fuel to mom's fire. Apparently the appropriate reply is 'Mom, we're not having kids - we are just work-partners.' Whining about the aunt's name and telling mom that _you_ don't even want kids and not contradicting her assumption… well that just made her more sure." Marshall chuckled.

They strolled for a bit through the woods behind his childhood home, not wandering too far from the house, but far enough to have some privacy to their conversation.

"I've never really seen you play with kids before," she offered. "You looked like you enjoyed it."

"I do," he nodded.

"Do you still want a whole boatload?" His questioning look made her explain. "Melissa said something about you always wanted lots of kids."

He shrugged. "I'm not getting any younger. I think my chance to have a 'whole boatload,' as you say, is gone. But in a perfect world, I'd like one or two, yes." He stepped over a large fallen tree and turned, offering his hand to her to help her over the log. He knew she'd prefer to scramble over on her own in a show of independence.

She regarded him momentarily before stepping up onto the log and slipping her hand into his. _Letting him help you is not weakness, _she thought to herself as he held her steady as she jumped down.

"But that's putting the cart before the horse," he continued. "I won't have kids without being married; I prefer the structure and security of marriage. I know you think that's old fashioned-"

"I don't," she said, interrupting him. "I get that it's important to you."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I'm not a total piece of shit, Marshall," she said defensively. "Most of the time, yes. I'm horrible and hateful to you and shocked that you stick around and take it. Most of the time I'm too bent on keeping things emotionless in my own little self-important world, that I run right over everything you offer me."

He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she continued.

"But I'm not completely oblivious. I know you are so intelligent it's astonishing that you haven't cured cancer yet. I know you are so overqualified to be a marshal, I can only guess at how many promotions you've passed on. And I don't even want to think about why. I know that you like the structure of a 'traditional relationship' and you don't understand why I do the crazy screwed up relationship shit that I do. Honestly I don't get it either," she paused and tipped her head back to look at the canopy of leaves, knowing full well this was possibly the most she had spoken to him at once in what seemed like months. "I _get_ you more than I _get _me," she whispered. "And that scares the hell out of me."

"Mary-"

He was interrupted by the sound of a dinner bell being rung and he groaned.

She snorted. "Seriously? What is this, the Ponderosa? You have a dinner bell?"

"Dad likes it," was his only reply. She turned to head back through the woods the way they came, but he caught her wrist gently, turning her to face him.

"You're going to ask me if we can talk about this more later," she stated, standing toe-to-toe with him.

Marshall nodded.

"You keep saying that. You're going to have to make a list. You know I forget."

"I'll remember," he said firmly, watching as she gently freed her wrist and walked back up to the fallen tree.

She stood in front of the tree and looked at him as if he just failed an IQ test. "Well? You expect me to climb this thing on my own? Get the lead out of your pants, Mann. I'm in a damned dress. You can at least _pretend_ I'm a girl!"

He couldn't help but let the laughter bubble up. _So._ _This is what Mary making an effort looks like, _he thought, climbing over the tree and turning to take her hand.

She allowed herself to be 'helped' over the log she could have easily climbed herself.

"What, no 'thank you'?" he teased when her feet hit the ground.

She rolled her eyes in reply and he felt her fingers squeeze his own and he prepared for her to drop the grasp. Instead, she simply started walking, fingers snug against his. She didn't drop their grasp until they approached the picnic table.

He assumed _that _was his 'thank you.'


	5. Chapter 5

He was stretched out in the deck-chair, his head tipped back and the flickering fire casting shadows across his features. The sun was getting lower in the sky by the minute and the fire pit was in full blaze to ward off the evening's chill.

Marshall's eyes flicked between his father and brothers as they had an animated discussion recalling an event from Thanksgiving the year prior. He hadn't made it home; and if pressed, he couldn't remember why.

He turned his head lazily as he watched a figure approach from across the yard.

It was odd, really, seeing her in a sundress. It wasn't her typical attire and took a moment to adjust every time he looked at her- a moment to shift her from the 'Jeans and a jacket, no nonsense, tequila shot' Mary that he knew so well, to this entirely different _woman _who was sauntering across his parents' back yard, beers in hand.

Same piercing gaze. Same 'back off' vibe radiating from every pore. But there was a touch of softness that hadn't been there before – or that he hadn't noticed. Idly he wondered where it came from.

He moved to stand from the deck chair to give her a place to sit, the other chairs filled by his family. She shook her head and waved him off, handing him the beer and perching herself on the arm of his chair.

"Ever the gentleman," she muttered to him, taking a pull from her long-neck.

He shrugged and managed to keep from stiffening in reaction as her hand settled on his shoulder, her fingers squeezing slightly.

"Mom trained us right," Evan's voice said from the chair to Marshall's far side, tipping his own beer towards the skies in salute of his mother.

Seth nodded solemnly from across the fire pit. "We didn't always see eye-to-eye, but I will say she did a damned fine job putting manners in you boys."

"I've got no complaints," Melissa said gently, reaching out and covering Evan's hand with her own.

"I've got one!" Megan, Jacob's wife, snickered. "She could have done a better job teaching this one to put the toilet seat down."

"Hey!" Jacob protested. "I do!... Sometimes." He added, abashed.

"Any complaints, Mary?" Melissa prodded.

She appraised the circle of adults, doing an involuntary and immediate threat-assessment. Mary couldn't suppress the grin. Her position at Marshall's right hand was emblematic identical to the other women's in their positions next to their respective husband. Clearly she had been given the role of Marshall's wife in this discussion.

"Not a single one." She shook her head in reply and cleared her throat to elaborate. "He brings me the best coffee every morning. He holds doors for me, even though it pisses me off. He always offers to drive on long road trips and never argues with me about the radio. He has the patience of a saint with my screwed up family. He makes the _best _lasagna I've ever had in my life and does the dishes afterwards. And best of all, he calls me on my bullshit, gets in my face and makes me think. He challenges me. He makes my life messy." She took another swig from her beer, ignoring the stare she could feel Marshall boring into the side of her head. "Messy's not always bad."

Megan looked up at Mary. "Does he leave the seat up?"

"Not at my house," she said.

Megan smacked Jacob's arm. "I want a divorce. I'm marrying your brother."

"Marshall, golden-boy, you're making us look bad," Evan stage-whispered from across the fire-pit.

Marshall chuckled. "Mary's exaggerating!"

"Really?" She countered, spinning her inquisitor's eye on him. "What did I say that isn't pure fact?"

Marshall looked up at her, shocked by the light she painted him in for his family. She shrugged, not apologetic in the least. 

"Nothing but honesty," she whispered, clinking her beer bottle against his before taking another sip.

Seth chuckled at his family surrounding him. "I know your momma's pleased, boys. She did her best and you all made her proud."

Melissa tried in vain to hide a sniffle, and Evan leaned over, wiping her tear and kissing her cheek tenderly. "I'll miss her," she whispered, leaning into her husband's embrace.

"Save the tears for the service," her husband said, stroking her back. "Tonight's for happy memories."

"You ok?" Mary asked, her hand having been still on Marshall's shoulder, now her thumb traced a pattern tentatively.

He nodded taking a pull from his beer, his mind spinning around her earlier words, her abnormal attitude and the attention she had uncharacteristically bestowed upon him tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

**I've had some feedback about chapter-length. I know my chapters tend to be on the shorter side and I prefer them that way; its possible to convey emotion and action without writing 2000 words for just one chapter. I update pretty regularly, so hopefully you all can wait somewhat patiently (haha) until I update again!**

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><p>"Dad offered you the guest room," Marshall offered from her side, walking down his dirt-drive towards town and the B&amp;B that would house Mary for the night.<p>

She merely shrugged. "This is fine. You didn't have to walk me back; I'm a big girl."

"Oh, I know," he said. "But my momma would kill me."

Mary bumped his shoulder with her own. "I'm sorry I didn't get to meet her. I have a feeling she would have had good stories about you as a kid."

He nodded. "I'm sure she's got a shoebox stashed somewhere with baby pictures in it."

"Naked ones?" Mary teased. "Bring it on."

A small chuckle escaped his lips. "You were uncharacteristically supportive this evening. You feeling ok?"

She half-shrugged, stopping in front of the B&B, and fishing the key out of her dress's pocket. "I feel fine."

"Uh huh."

Mary balked at his doubtful grunt. "Jesus, Marshall, I'm making a damned effort here! I suck at this and we both know it! You've spent the last seven years giving me more credit than I deserve, where's that now when I actually need it? I'm _TRYING!_"

"Trying to do what?" he asked, his voice soft, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Trying! I'm trying!" Mary flung her hands into the air in frustration. "I'm not sure how to do this," she said gesturing between the both of us. "You made yourself pretty clear the other day. And I ran away. And I can't come back and say "Marshall, I'm an idiot" because, really that's no surprise for you; I've been a relationship retard for years. And _now_ your mom's up and died so it would be _really _bad timing for me to jump your bones! So I don't know how to do _this!_ I suck at it, ok? I just do!"

She turned, fully intending to storm into the house. His hand on her wrist, pulling her back towards him stilled her motion.

Out of instinct, she tried to wrench her grasp away. He closed his fingers again, stilling her steps. "Mare. 'Jump my bones?' Really?" he teased, chuckling.

"Numbnuts, mock me again and I'll make sure you can't have _any _children, never mind a whole boatload."

He shifted his fingers and slid his hand up her arm, drawing her close. "For the record," he said pulling her into a light hug, one she could easily escape from if she demanded. "You don't suck at this. There isn't a single thing you could have done differently or better today. You were supportive to my family even though you don't know half of them. You managed to make me out to be some sort of super-man to my sisters-in-law, which was awesome in and of itself, and knocked my brothers down a peg or two – which is a bonus. And you even played nicely with the kids," he said, whispering the last line.

She frowned, returning his gentle hug before pulling away, turning back towards the front door to the house and away from his embrace.

"Hey," he called after her, catching her before she ducked in the front door. "Tomorrow's … I don't really need to go to the funeral home. Dad's handling everything. Are you up for lunch?"

She merely grinned an affirmative reply and let the door to the B&B close behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

"When you said 'lunch' I thought you mean someplace with a ceiling," she said, flopping down next to him on the patchwork quilt. The grassy bank near the lake was a beautiful view, even she could admit that. It just wasn't what immediately sprang to mind when someone said "lunch."

"This is better. Rocks. Trees. Birds. Clouds."

"Bugs," she added, flicking a hand at a mosquito. She gathered the wrapper to her sandwich, stowing it in the open picnic basket and then flopped own on her back.

Marshall reached over and stored his own trash in the basket before closing the lid and moving it out of the way. He scooted closer to her on the blanket, laying back and letting his eyes find patterns in the fluffy clouds.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, hesitancy evident in her voice.

It was a long beat before he replied. "Pulmonary Embolism caused by deep vein thrombus. Leading to sudden death from acutely low blood pressure."

"Do the doctors really think that telling people the 15-letter word diagnosis makes it easier for us to process?" she scoffed. "That's bullshit. I can't remember the big-ass words the paramedics gave me when you were shot; I just know that there was blood. Coming out of you. And that was – and still is – very bad. Their job was to fix it. And not spout shit that a Latin professor would have to look up."

He cracked a grin at her rant and reached over, taking her hand with his. This was, without a doubt, the most hand-holding he had done since highschool. But the fact that Mary Shannon permitted the simple more-than-friends contact was enough.

"Mom had trouble breathing for the last week. She called me a few days ago, complaining about the pollen. She had pretty bad seasonal allergies and she thought that the shortness of breath was related," he sighed when he felt her fingers toy with his own. "She had trouble walking on Saturday so dad rushed her to the hospital. Mom had some heart problems when she was younger so we've always been a little cautious."

"Heart problems?" _Heart problems can be genetic._

He shrugged. "Peripartum cardiomyopathy. It's a rare disorder - symptoms of heart failure that occur in the last stages of pregnancy."

Mary frowned, rolling onto her side and looking at him closely. "You're the youngest. This happened with you?"

Marshall nodded. "Typically the heart returns to normal within five months after delivery. But mom's heart never was the same. As she got older she had blood pressure problems."

"Shit, Marshall."

He shrugged her words off.

The look that flashed across his face was quick, but Mary recognized the self-flagellation for what it was and she glared at him.

"Jesus, no!" she said firmly, propping herself up on an elbow and jabbing her other hand's finger into his chest. "You listen to me! This isn't your fault."

"Mare-"

"Don't you 'Mare', me, Marshall. You did not kill your mother because of a random condition 36 years ago when she was knocked up with you. This is _Not. Your. Fault._"

She watched his eyes close tightly and she moved instinctively, wrapping her arm around his waist in a half-hug. "Marshall," she reprimanded when she saw the regretful look still on his face. "I can promise you that she'd beat the shit out of you right now if she thought you were regretting being born. That is complete horse-shit. I saw your mom's kitchen last night; the family photos plastering every square inch of the wall _prove_ how much she loved you and how proud she was of you." She wiped away the tears coursing down his cheeks and she tisked at him. "How could she not be proud?" she whispered.

"Stop it," she said, her voice firm, after letting him indulge for a few moments. "You're allowed to grieve for her, but you're not allowed to beat yourself up."

He took a shuddering breath and nodded, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Mary felt herself be pulled down to his chest and she tucked her head under his chin.

By nature, she wasn't a cuddler. But this didn't feel nearly as awkward as she expected.

In fact, it didn't suck at all.


	8. Chapter 8

She stood in the entryway of his room, her shoulder propped against the doorjamb. She watched as he fiddled with a tie, his fingers refusing to cooperate.

The dark suit fit him well, but the somber and drawn look on his face was uncharacteristic and made her take pause.

She noted the lines on his face; ones that hadn't been there seven years ago. She was sure she could find frown and worry marks which would match a timeline with her shooting and recovery. She was sure that the smallest, finest of the wrinkles were from his own shooting.

That was Marshall; always worrying more about others than himself.

And she loved him for it.

God knows it had taken her this long to admit it to herself, but it was true.

She didn't know what she'd do without him in her life and she was terrified to find out.

"No boots today, cowboy?" she said, looking at the polished black shoes set out at the foot of his bed.

"Everything matters," he said softly, taking out the knot in the tie for the third time and starting fresh. "Even shoes for a funeral."

She stepped up behind him, her heels making her at a better height to reach over his shoulders and still his hands on the silk. "You're going to strangle yourself," she said, straightening the tie and starting the Windsor knot again. "I can only handle one funeral at a time, ok? Be considerate. Think about me for a change," she said with a wink.

He cracked a small smile and watched their reflection in the mirror, watching her hand slide across the silk of his tie. He froze when she moved to straighten the fabric, her hands sliding down his chest quickly.

Mary stilled, closed her eyes and hugged him tightly. "God, Marshall. I'm so sorry," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I can't imagine…"

He tipped his head against hers and relished in the moment, regardless of how it was brought about.

He turned in her arms, his hands settling against her hips. "Dad always said 'Everything matters.' Mom's catch phrase was 'Don't miss an opportunity to change your life.'"

Mary frowned before realizing that his fingers had tightened on her hips, drawing her slightly closer. She could feel the uncertainty in his trembling but firm grip and she caught the resolve in his gaze just before his lips closed on hers.

For the briefest second, she froze, unsure of herself – unsure of them. But when she felt him start to slide his lips away, she couldn't help but lean into his touch and encouraging him to stay a while.

They were only there, lip-to-lip, for a minute or two but it was long enough for her heart to hammer in her chest. She pulled away from him slightly, delivering a final quick peck.

"Your mom was a smart lady," she managed to eek out, using her thumb to wipe her smudged lipstick off of his mouth.

The worried look on his face dissolved and he caught her hand, turning it and placing a gentle kiss on her palm.

"Wear the boots," she said gently.

"Dad'll kill me," he said, with a breath of air that felt like a chuckle.

"He'll have to get through me," she said firmly as she moved away from his grasp and reached over to grab his boots. She put them against his chest.

"You have doubts? Go look at the photos on the piano," she said, knowing he'd find about ten of him as a small child dressed in full western regalia, most including a Sherriff's star pinned to his chest and all including cowboy boots.

The one that had Mary resisting the kleptomania urge was of a baby Marshall in only a diaper and what had to be his father's boots- so big they covered his entire legs. The smile on the toddler's face lit up the black and white photo. She hoped she could talk Seth into letting her keep a copy.

"I'll meet you downstairs."

He watched her walk away before sitting on the edge of his bed, fighting a grin, and tugging on his boots.


	9. Chapter 9

Unlike usual, today there was no hairband on her wrist. So she was forced to repeatedly tuck the blonde strands behind her ear.

The wind coming off the lake was refreshing against her overheated skin. She watched a large white bird soar across the water and his wings seemed to stutter as he angled for a landing. He stood in the knee-deep marshy grasses and she watched his body tense as he waited for his prey to swim by.

Mary wracked her brain for the name of the bird. Marshall would know. Marshall always knew. She knew this sort of inane bird-naming trivia at one point in her life, too. Then her dad baled and her life went to hell in a handbasket and she'd be treading water ever since.

"Ardea Alba."

She felt herself nearly jump out of her skin.

"Jessus, Marshall," she grumbled, shifting in her seat as he approached her deck chair, his lanky gait covering the ground.

He smirked, knowing full well he'd started the hell out of her. "It's the Great Egret," he elaborated. He knew she wouldn't be able to decipher the Latin name – nor did he expect her to. That's what he was here for.

He settled into the deck chair at her side, stretching and crossing his boot-clad ankles out in front of him. "You disappeared after the service."

She shrugged. "Its all family up there," she said. "And I'm shit at these events. What do you say but 'I'm Sorry' over and over again and they're just words. They don't fix anything."

He tipped his head back. "That's true; they don't fix anything. But they show that you care."

She had no reply to that, instead deciding to focus on the rippling of the lake before speaking again. "Did it get to be too much for you in there?" she queried, truly wondering if he had come out to look for her. Was she inadvertently responsible for distracting him from an important event in his life?

Marshall turned towards her. "Listening to my neighbors comment on the how Mom's one regret would be how she 'never got to see grandchildren from Marshall,' was getting to be a little much."

She grimaced.

"The service was nice."

He nodded. "Short. Sweet. She would have liked that. Mom was always more about getting people back to the house to feed them, rather than hours of pomp and circumstance."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Mary teased. Marshall's long-standing history of prying her with food around any large holiday or event was one of her favorite things about him.

"Once all the guests leave, I think Evan said something about home-movies. I know that's considered the tenth circle of hell for you, but you're welcome to come. I can offer you wine and popcorn. No hard liquor or potato skins," he said apologetically.

Mary watched him for a brief second, sizing up the look on his face. "Do you want a reason not to go? I can pretend to be a girlie-girl and need an escort back to the B&B."

He paused. "Nah. This is something I wouldn't mind doing. But I understand it's not your thing."

"Marshall, how many 'things' have you baled on because they 'weren't my thing' over the years? I've lost count," she countered.

"Friendship isn't about keeping score, Mare."

Mary shook her head at him. "That's bullshit. Of course it is. And I'm pretty far behind," she said firmly. "Besides, this can't be an entirely heinous experience. I'm sure there will be many embarrassing moments for you that will make excellent blackmail," she waggled her eyebrows and managed to get a chuckle out of him. "I can suck it up for one night."


	10. Chapter 10

Mary Shannon never gave a single thought to the haphazard way she was cramming her clothes into her go-bag. Wrinkles could wait until Albuquerque.

She zipped the bag shut, almost drowning out the sound of the door to her room opening.

He stood in the door way and surveyed the frenzied look on her face and the evidence of packing across the bed.

"Going somewhere?" Marshall tried keeping his voice even, despite the turmoil in his throat.

She looked up and tucked some blonde strands behind her ear. "Yeah. Albuquerque."

He frowned and she met his questioning look with one of her own. "What, Marshall? Think I could stay here and hand-hold forever?"

"Mary," he started, moving towards her the way one would approach a cat ready to bolt.

She shouldered the bag and started thumbing through her cell phone in the same move. "Damned Taxi number…. Its here somewhere."

"Mary," he said again, not yet touching her, instead, blocking her way to the door with his body. If pressed, he knew she would barrel through him, no holds barred. Instead, she stopped and looked up at him; he saw the regret in her eyes clearly before she masked her gaze.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice dropping and the rumble of words seeming to come from his chest.

She shook her head firmly. "Nothing. I've just got shit to do back home."

"Mare," he said firmly, his hand coming out and gripping her shoulder. "Talk to me."

Mary shook her head again. "You've got family stuff. I have my own cluster-fuck of a family to get back to."

Marshall sighed, suddenly knowing that this impromptu change in attitude had to be spurred by something. Someone.

"What did my father say?" he hazard a guess that his father's mouth had been the culprit.

"What makes you think he said anything?" She narrowed her eyes and pulled her shoulder back, trying to wrench it out of his grasp.

He refused to let go. Just like always. For some reason she still couldn't wrap her brain around, he refused to let her run.

"Because he always says something," Marshall answered. "When I was 15, he scared off Sabrina Plaices. After that, it was Katinka who got the rude comment. I'm honestly surprised he didn't say something to you during Operation Falcon."

She looked up at him, Seth's comments fresh in her mind.

"_Tomorrow's the reading of the will," Seth had said, his tone hushed in deference to Marshall's sleeping form at Mary's feet. She had taken up a spot on the sofa to watch the home-movies and he had parked himself on the floor at her feet, keeping the slightest of bodily contact between his shoulder and her knee. Now, his quiet and even snore tickled her leg with every breath, his head pillowed against her thigh. _

_Mary had merely looked at Seth, knowing there was more than a mere statement of schedule. _

_His next words, however, were not what she expected. "Family only."_

_She felt the furrow in her brow as she frowned at him, not having expected to be so blatantly excluded. Of course she wouldn't invite herself to such a private event; if Marshall wanted her there, he'd tell her. _

_Seth continued. "I didn't know Witsec gave such long vacation time when it's the _partner's _family emergency," he said, clearly making a dig at her still being present, three days later. "Must be nice to get all that time-off." _

_She must have tensed at his words, because Marshall stirred against her thigh, his hand gripping her knee. "What's wrong?"_

_Mary had instinctively reached out and smoothed his hair and shushed him. "Nothing. Your dad was just pointing out the time," she replied. _

"_Bed," Marshall muttered, standing up and pulling Mary with him. She trailed after him, stopping them both at the foot of the stairs, having left Seth behind in the living room. She turned towards the door, only to feel him pull her back into a hug. "Thanks," he had said, kissing her temple. She had smiled sadly up at him before ducking out the front door. _

She sighed, blinking herself back into the present. "It doesn't matter, Marshall."

He placed his other hand on her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "It matters to me."

"You had lawyer stuff today," she said, waving off his words with a half-shrug. "You don't need me here. I'm heading back."

"Hey," he lifted her chin again and made sure she was truly watching him. "I need you."

Mary shook her head, freeing his fingers. "No, you don't."

"Hard as it may be to believe, Mary, I'm a glutton for punishment. Your acerbic barbs and dry wit keep me grounded, in a twisted and psychologically dysfunctional way. _You _being here has kept me from alternating between wringing my dad's neck and falling to pieces." Marshall's words were soft but firm. "There's not another person on this planet that I would have wanted to stand next to me yesterday at the service."

"Maybe someone who didn't cry," she snickered at her reaction to the moving words at the service.

"You see those tears as a weakness. I see them as proof that you're not as dysfunctional as you make yourself out to be," He shook his head. "You held my hand, and stood by my side, Mare, just like you've always done. I'm more thankful for you as a friend and partner than anything else. I just wish you'd _get _that."

Marshall took a step back and watched her face as she mentally processed his words.

"I get it," she said softly.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Don't run. I can't chase you right now."

She shifted her bag on her shoulder and took a step towards him, into his space. "I don't want you to." The quick flash of hurt across his face made her continue. "Not right now, anyway. Right now your job is to stay and make it the next two nights without murdering your father. Seriously, I can't bail you out of jail. Don't kill him. I need you."

He sighed and Mary watched as he dropped his chin to his chest, feeling the rejection of her leaving.

"Marshall," Mary reached out and, with shaking fingers, placed a hand on his chest. "I need to go clear my head."

"You can't do that here?"

"We can't both be gone, Marshall. Stan's probably pulling out what's left of his hair."

When he didn't rise to her quip, she frowned at him and continued. "I've had more than my share of partners. I've never had one that kisses me before his mother's funeral service," she arched a teasing eyebrow at him and seeing the faint pink color his cheeks, she continued. "Seth's right; you've got family shit to handle. Let me go home and handle our lives at home."

His eyes met hers. "You sure you're not running from me?"

"I'm done thinking, Marshall." Mary said. She shook her head. "'Messy' can't suck that badly, can it?" Mary rose up on her toes and tentatively brushed her lips across his.

His hands snaked out and cradled the back of her head, increasing the pressure and not letting her pull away. She couldn't seem to keep her hand from slipping around his side and gripping the fabric of the back of his shirt.

His tongue flicked out across her bottom lip and her breath caught in her throat and she pulled away, overwhelmed by the rush from such simple contact.

She cleared her throat and tipped her forehead against his. "Yeah. Messy's not going to suck at all."

Marshall slipped his fingers from her hair, toying with it briefly before she stepped away.

"Will you call me when you land?"

She nodded and tossed a wave over her shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

The phone to her ear, she listened to the rings and waited for the click indicating he had picked up.

The tell-tale noise didn't come.

Voicemail.

_Maybe leaving was the worst idea I've had since that spiral perm in the 80s,_ she thought.

"Hey. The plane just touched down. I'm headed into the office, check on a few folks then back to my house to forage for dinner since you're not here to play delivery boy with my Chinese food. If you find time to call and let me know you're not in jail for murder, that would be good."

She disconnected with a heavy sigh and disembarked the plane.

The office had been quiet, thankfully. She had cleared out her emails and was bored enough to prioritize the leaning-tower-of-Pisa stack of paperwork on her desk before heading home.

The house was quiet and dark. Brandi had been spending almost all of her days and nights with Peter. And with Jinx's new job and apartment, the house was truly Mary's alone.

The silence was unnerving. Having gone from the constant thrum of activity at the Mann's house to the quiet shuffling activity of the B&B, hearing only her own motions and footsteps in her house was enough to set her just on edge.

The go-bag got dropped inside the door and she shuffled towards the couch, flopping back onto it with appreciation she rarely felt for the inanimate object.

When the phone in her pocket buzzed, she wearily fished it out and glanced at the screen. She flipped it open with a grin.

"My cell mate's name is Spike and he says I've got a cute ass and that my father probably deserved it."

She couldn't help but chuckle at his greeting. "Tell him I don't disagree on either count."

He was clearly stunned into silence for the shortest of beats. "You think I have a cute ass?"

"The thought has crossed my mind at least once in seven years, Marshall, yes," she snipped back. "I do notice this stuff."

In her mind's eye she could clearly envision the doubtful-but-pondering face he was making. She interrupted before his brain could construct a three-hundred word sentence in reply.

"How did the meeting with the lawyer go?"

"It was interesting," he replied. "I didn't even know mom had some of those assets. The family dynamic changed completely when her bequest was read."

She closed her eyes and felt herself relax into the sofa, the timbre of his voice washing over her.

Marshall continued, changing topic without prompting. "I had an interesting chat with Dad. He's still alive, you'll be pleased to hear. But he's vowed to keep his nosey over protective paternal butt away from you."

"You shouldn't have said anything."

"Mary, I have every right to expect my father to respect my friend and partner. If he can't be polite and courteous to guests I bring to family-events, then it should be addressed."

She sighed, still not used to having him stand up for her even after all these years.

"I'll be home day after tomorrow," he offered to her silence.

"Want me to pick you up?"

"No. Thanks. My truck's at the airport." She had asked 'want' not 'need' and he grinned at the difference. 'Want' was his preference, his desire. 'Need' was entirely different. She was asking what would make him happy.

Mary felt the unspoken words thick on the line. She knew what he wanted. What he needed. And she knew she needed it, too. But he had set this ball in her court and he would patiently wait for it to come from her.

She smiled to herself, wondering if he was in fact the most patient man on the face of the earth. "Swing by when you get back? We'll go get a bite."

"See you then," he replied. "Night, Mare. Sweet Dreams."

"Night Marshall."


	12. Chapter 12

Mary pulled the hair off her neck into a quick pony tail as she rushed to answer the knocks at her door.

She couldn't keep the almost-full smile off her face when the door opened and revealed her partner on the other side. Her expression changed instantly when she saw the haggard look on his face.

"Holy Mother, you look like crap!"

"Good to see you, too."

She stood back and he shuffled into the hallway and made a bee-line for her sofa. "I come bearing gifts," he said, shoving a shoe-box and a small bouquet into her arms as he passed.

Mary frowned down at the flowers. _When was the last time someone gave her flowers? _She headed towards the kitchen, using a beer-bottle as an impromptu vase for the delicate flowers. The shoe-box in hand, she headed to the sofa and plopped down next to him, shoulders touching.

"What is this? If it's from your father, I think I need to call the bomb squad."

"It's from my brothers. It's safe; I already checked." He watched as she eyed the box doubtfully. "Open it."

She pulled the lid up and peered in, moving more quickly when she realized what was inside. Photos.

Mary stilled at the one on top; the only one in a frame.

Marshall's gentle voice tickled her ear. "Melissa said she saw you eyeing that one; she thought you'd like to have it."

"Seth won't miss it?" She absently fingered the corner of the frame, her eyes tracing the toddler in giant cowboy boots.

Marshall shook his head. "Probably never even noticed it before."

Mary sighed and turned to her partner, the photos in her lap almost slipping to the floor but for Marshalls' quick hands. "Explain to me how a tool of a guy like Seth has kids that are as nice as you and your brothers."

Marshall smirked slightly. "Had you met my mother, that question would have answered itself." He tilted his head and rested his forehead on hers before continuing. "I think I'm going to have to take a rain check for our dinner plans this evening. I'm dead on my feet. Family drama is exhausting."

"Tell me about it," she quipped back. Mary thought quickly, realizing that a rain-check meant he'd leave. And she'd spent the last two days simultaneously annoyed that he wasn't around and nervous for his return. Of course, now that he _was _here – with her – she was neither annoyed nor nervous. Just, oddly, comfortable.

"Is your bag in the car?" She asked, getting a perplexed nod in reply. "I have some laundry to do; I'll throw yours in there, too."

"Mary- " She silenced him with a sharp look.

"You should grab a nap. When you're feeling less like the walking-dead, I'll let you take me to dinner. We've got a new witness I need to read up on."

Marshall frowned at the pod-person that had clearly invaded her body. This person, who offered to do his laundry and let him take a nap while she actually studied… this was not his Mary. "Okaaaaay," he drawled, clearly uncertain.

"What?" she snapped. "I'm trying something new! It's called 'being nice.' I'm not convinced it isn't utter shit, but for you, Marshall, I'm willing to make an attempt. Go sleep in my big comfy bed before I change my mind and throw you out on your scrawny ass."

"I thought you liked my ass," he teased, rising from the sofa and walking back to the bedroom, ignoring the mutterings coming from his partner.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Thanks to all who have taken the time to review; I appreciate it. Extra thanks to Kellie and Lexie for their superb beta skills. And thoughts/prayers going out to Jen and her family who are suffering a family-emergency right now. Love to you, Jen, for all you do for everyone. Thanks to Kellie and Lexi for pinch hitting. :) _**

**_This is the final chapter. Thanks for joining me for the ride._**

* * *

><p>Sleep blurred his vision. He used the back of his hand to scrub his eye as he shuffled down the hall.<p>

Her feet were tucked under her and she leaned against one arm of the sofa, studying the file in her hand. Their new witnesses' info, he had no doubt. She tipped the file closer to the light and he watched her eyes crinkle slightly as she squinted.

He padded quietly to the back of the sofa and leaned over, in her space enough for the coconut scent in her shampoo to tickle his nose.

"Approximately fourteen billion Americans need corrective lenses," he whispered in her ear, tenderly pulling her hair out of her face.

A week ago, he wouldn't have had the nerve to exhibit such intimate contact. But something had changed; she was making an effort to let him into her life in a way she never had before.

He knew if he pushed too hard, she'd still run like a cornered cat. But he was taking what she was offering and being grateful for the opportunity. On a purely intellectual level, Marshall knew that the desperation with which he readily accepted the affection she was slowly doling out was enough to send him to therapy for years. But he held fast to the hope that this wasn't a fleeting fancy for her.

She ignored his presence. Almost. Involuntarily and almost imperceptibly, her head tipped slightly away from him, exposing her neck. "I don't need glasses."

His fingers twitched at the exposed, inviting slope of her neck. Marshall chuckled at her stubbornness. "The right pair of frames can be quite appealing on a woman."

"Christ, Marshall, I don't need glasses," she huffed. She tipped her head again to glare out of the corner of her eye.

The front of her neck taunted him and he briefly struggled with primitive urges – such as the overwhelming desire to latch onto her creamy flesh and leave a giant mark, branding her to all who saw.

_Yeah. That may not be worth the black eye, _he thought to himself, knowing he'd have to justify that to Stan. _However, a broken finger may not be so hard to explain. _

He trailed the fingers of his left hand gently down her flesh. Dipping behind her ear, running down her neck and, ever so gently, tracing swirls into the valley above her collarbone; he watched her pulse flutter under her skin and heard her breath catch in her throat.

Mary shifted on the sofa, tossing the file folder onto the coffee table without much regard for orderliness.

"Marshall."

His fingers stilled. "Want me to stop?"

"Not really but… yeah," she said, clearing her throat.

"Ok," was his only reply.

Her ears picked up the hurt in his voice, despite his attempt to hide it.

She reached up and quickly grabbed his wrist, preventing him from retreating to their 'safe' territory where 'just friends' signs were plastered around every waking moment.

"We're not in Texas anymore."

"The dry heat kinda gave that away, Mare."

"I'm serious, Marshall… Anything that happens now is real."

He frowned, trying to follow her. "So Texas wasn't real?"

She turned in her seat, meeting his gaze, her hand still firmly locked on his arm. "I'm a crazy bitch. I don't apologize for it. I have a fucked up family and I come with enough baggage to need a freakin' bell hop. I am cranky and whiny. I'm not sure I know how to have a 'healthy normal relationship' – whatever the hell that means. My biological clock's ticking; I've got to decide soon if I want to pass on my fucked up genetics to the next generation, not to mention burdening some poor kid with Grandma Jinx."

Marshall's gaze never waivered. "Was any of that supposed to surprise me?"

"Seriously, Marshall? What the hell is wrong with you? I don't understand why you don't just set your sights on some nice girl who didn't try to redecorate her house to include a bullet-room. You can pop out some cute little Mann babies- "

Her words were silenced by his lips gently caressing hers. "Mare, 'some nice girl' would bore the hell out of me. I need someone to keep my life messy," he whispered, his breath tickling her lips.

"I trust you not to break my heart," she offered. "I just don't trust me not to break yours."

"We'll figure it out, Mary. We always do," he said, letting her lean in slightly and tentatively kiss him.


End file.
